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Riftan searched around Castle Calypse hoping to catch a glimpse of red hair. He had been informed that Max had recently been seen running into the castle in tears.
His men all looked completely bewildered so he knew that it was not anything they had done, not that he thought for a second that they would insult her. After what happened in Ethylene Castle they thought of her as one of their own. They were prepared to go to war to defend her and he knew that they were relieved to see her return to the castle. Even Uslin seemed to nag a little less these days. There seemed to be a mutual unspoken understanding that the castle was a little brighter with Maximilian Calypse in it.
But where on earth had she gotten to? She wasn’t in their chambers, or in the library. She was somewhere close but where?
He strained his ears as he walked down the corridor in the direction she had fled in, only to stop outside of a small closet. It was faint, but there was definitely sounds of sobbing coming from inside. He cracked the door open to find his beautiful delicate wife sitting on an upturned bucket crying into the skirt of her dress.
“Maxi, what’s wrong…?”
He frowned as he took in her red swollen eyes and her tearstained cheeks. Even now she was still breath-taking. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was the most beautiful woman in the world. He didn’t even have to look. No other woman could hope to hold a candle to her.
The surprise on her face at his intrusion soon turned into anger as she glared at him.
“R-Riftan, I came in h-here because I-I wanted to be alone…”
Sighing, Riftan stepped inside the closet, closing the door behind him. Turning over another bucket he took a seat next to Max and pulled her onto his lap.
Max flailed her legs in surprise and tried to get up but Riftan wound one arm around her waist holding her in place as his other hand threaded through her hair, pressing her head into the crook of his neck.
They sat in silence, Max sobbing gently into his nape as he rubbed her back soothingly and pressed small kisses onto every inch of skin he could reach. He had missed this so much. Her sweet scent, the softness of her skin, the way she held onto his clothes when she needed comfort, the sound of her breathing as she slept in his arms…
‘Oh… how I missed this…’
The last three years had been horrendous. He firmly believed that a new form of torture had been invented the moment that he had heard that he was to be separated from his reason for living for so long. He had been so devastated, his entire world had suddenly shifted and everything felt so unstable that he had lashed out at her.
Those last few weeks before she left had been his biggest regret in life. If only he hadn’t gotten drunk every night, if only he hadn’t pushed her away and said those things to her, if only he had made it in time…
Every waking moment had been filled with bitterness and pain since he had seen that ship sail over the horizon.
Riftan tightened his arms around her waist. ‘Never again, I’m never leaving you to cry alone again.’
Max hiccupped a few times as her tears dried out. Riftan spoke softly as he pushed a few strands of hair behind her ears.
“What’s wrong Maxi? Why are you upset?”
Max sighed, her breath warming the nape of his neck as she debated in her mind whether to tell him. Riftan gave her a gentle squeeze to reassure her. After a long time had passed, she said in a small voice barely above a whisper.
“I… received a l-letter from Father…”
Riftan stiffened. What the hell did he want? He had tried numerous times during Max’s time away to move against him, whether he tried to convince merchants not to trade with Anatol or even sent assassins to end his life. He had never written to Max before so what the hell prompted him to do so now?
Riftan stayed quiet, allowing Max to finish in her own time.
“H-He was gloating, telling me that Rosetta had a healthy son…”
Riftan’s blood ran cold at her words. He knew precisely what that bastard was insinuating. ‘Rosetta had had a healthy son… unlike you…’
That piece of shit. How could he do this to his own daughter? Anger swelled from deep inside him. He had to make that prick pay. How the hell could that man look down at everyone else around him when he was such a worthless piece of filth himself.
However, he was pulled from his thoughts by a small hand gently leading his face to look into his wife’s eyes. Though her face was still red and puffy, she offered him a small but genuine smile.
‘Don’t start a war again because of me.’ her large winter grey eyes silently pleaded to him. He closed his eyes, nodded and rested his head against hers. She was right, she had only just returned. He couldn’t bear to be parted from her again.
But his mind whirled into action. He couldn’t leave this slight unchallenged, but any direct confrontation could lead to an uncontrollable amount of fallout. Afterall Max had only agreed to go to Nornui as a result of his actions.
What an earth should he do?
He returned his wife’s smile as a thought crossed his mind. ‘I know just who to ask.’
⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝
It didn’t take long for him to track down the ginger giant. He was where he always was when he had down time. At the tavern getting drunk.
Riftan usually made it a hard rule not to disturb his men when they were off duty but desperate times called for desperate measures. He approached the man from behind and clapped him on the shoulder with a large hand causing the man to jump out of his skin.
“Heavens above Captain… are you trying to kill me? I know you’re worried about me overtaking you in the rankings, but I didn’t think you’d stoop to trying to murder me!”
Riftan suppressed the grin that threatened to form on his lips as he pulled a chair out and sat next to Hebaron.
“You seem to be getting slower in your old age. A knight should always be alert to potential danger. Perhaps I should increase your training to get you back into peak shape?”
Hebaron shot him an unimpressed look as he flagged down a passing waitress to order two more drinks. As he turned back to Riftan he raised his eyebrows expectantly. “What do you want?”
Riftan shook his head. “Who says I’m after anything?”
Hebaron eyed him with suspicion over the top of his tankard. “You don’t like crowds and Lady Calypse has only been back less than two weeks so normally you would be… preoccupied. What are you after?”
Holding his hands up in defeat, Riftan filled Hebaron in on his predicament. Hebaron listened intently to everything that he was told, and when Riftan finished he leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard, deep in thought.
“Hmmmm… you are in a pickle, aren’t you? How to retaliate to the man who needs no reason to make an attempt on your life.”
They sat for a long time, mostly in silence, occasionally throwing out ideas which were quickly shelved as the risk was too great. What to do…
Hebaron groaned as a man who was clearly heavily inebriated attempted to climb onto the stage before he staggered and promptly fell off.
“Oh no, not this joker again. He gets absolutely hammered at least twice a week then he ‘attempts’ to serenade the ladies. He hasn’t had a single lesson on how to play the lute in his life and he can’t carry a tune in a bucket. To make matters worse…”
Hebaron trailed off as a wide smile spread across his face. “I have an idea.”
Three days later…
Riftan and Hebaron looked gleefully out over the large band of misfits and drunks they had managed to accumulate in a surprisingly short amount of time. There were well over a hundred of them and they had been provided with enough alcohol to last them at least three months if they all drank from dawn to dusk.
Uslin, Gabel and Yuri had been given the task of running around making sure that everyone was secured inside their wagons, but it proved to be a thankless task, for as soon as they had secured one wagon and had moved onto the next, the occupants had already either escaped out the end or fallen over the side. Herding cats would probably have proven to be more fruitful.
Suddenly the air was filled with the shouts of one of the wagon drivers who was wildly gesticulating at Yuri.
“What the hell are we to do with this bunch of idiots?! You tell me they are bards! What kind of imbecile do you take me for? The majority of these people can’t sing, lots of the instruments don’t have enough strings and they are all DRUNK! These musicians are horrible!”
Hebaron laughed and clapped joyously. “They’re perfect! To the Croyso estate they go!”
A soft smile settled on Riftan’s lips as he signalled for Uslin to come over. He handed the harassed looking man a very large bag filled with coin.
“Remember, for every month they manage to stay in the Croyso estate their reward doubles, and we’ll triple any reward offered by the duke.”
Uslin’s lips were pressed into a straight line, obviously unimpressed with his assignment but he offered no resistance. Instead, he saluted his commander and turned to mount his horse.
As the band of drunks was led slowly out of the gates, Riftan watched them with a light heart
⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝
The duke groaned in frustration. They were relentless, no matter where he went, he couldn’t escape the incessant droning. Tried to freshen up in the morning? He could hear the bards. Hosting an important meeting? Bards. Goes to relieve himself. You guessed it… bards.
He couldn’t go more than 30 seconds without hearing that damn song. All the townspeople and visitors to his castle assumed that he had commissioned the bards himself so that everyone in a 1000 thradion radius would know of his eldest daughters’ accomplishments. According to the bards themselves, they had come to celebrate her return.
Day and night, they would only ever sing “Lady of red hair.” They would sing it fast, they would sing it slowly, they would dance a lively jig to it, and they would waltz with each other to it. He didn’t know there were so many ways to sing a single damn song… over… and over… and over…
But one thing was always the same every time they sung the song. They would sing it LOUDLY. There was always a significant proportion that would sing off key and a beat too late. Their attempts to harmonise with each other was the stuff of nightmares. One would think they would improve with the amount of practice they had but if anything they had only gotten worse with every week that passed.
Two months. Two. Long. Months he had to put up with this nonsense. He had tried everything to disband the group. He had attempted to bribe them, threaten them and one time to even beat them into submission, but they were like weeds. Every time he thought he had suppressed them, they would come back in even larger numbers than before. It would appear that every drunkard in the continent was making their way to his estate to eat drink and be merry.
This was absolute torture.
He would do anything to not hear the ‘Lady of red hair’ again for the rest of his life.